The Lovers
by xunxknownx
Summary: Min is a black Korean working in Busan as a police officer. He is in charge of a suspicious dissapearance. Claire is an exchange student in Seoul. She meets the disturbingly gorgeous boyfriend of her roommate, Eun-Soo. Emma is a famous inspector in Seoul. Her romantic past comes back to haunt her. These three characters will meet in an unusual way.


Chapter 1 : I am Black.

_Diveristy does not mean black and white only._

_Henry Louis Gates._

I wash my face and brush my teeth. I close my eyes while doing so and almost fall asleep. I am lacking too many hours of sleep. And it is starting to show. My skin has lost its colors. I am as pale as a patient. A beard of a few days is occupying my chin and the bottom of my cheeks. My pumped lips that were once smooth are now chapped. The cold winter has not sparred me. My skin is tight and itchy. But who has time to hydrate with such a demanding job ? If I had known, I would not have studied to become a police officer. They do not tell you about the sleepless nights during your formation. They only tell you about the gun and the badge.

Someone enters the bathroom. He jumps back when he sees me. It is as if he has seen a ghost. But it is not because of my tired face. It is not because of my beard or my chapped lips. It is because I am black. A black in an environment of white ̶ well Asians actually, which technically are not as white as westerners ̶ but still I am the Black one.

I was born and raised in South-Korea. I master the tongue like a native, because I am a native. My culture is Korean. My home is Busan, a large port in the South of Korea. But because of my skin color, because of that singular difference, I am a foreigner, an outcast. I am not Korean. I am Black. It does not matter if my passport says otherwise. I brush it off and ignore him as I have learned to do for my entire life. I wipe myself and leave the bathroom. I get a cup of coffee in an effort to wake up. I start working.

"Min" calls my colleague from the other side of the office. I look up above my computer and frown.

"What is it ?" I ask.

"You need to look at this." he says showing the TV. I get up and walk by his side. I direct my attention to the large screen hanging on the wall. A lady in a perfect beige suit is talking into a microphone, held by one of the thirsty reporters.

"It has not been proven yet. But our officers are doing their best to uncover the controversies around our former President. I will not give any further comments. Thank you." she says as she walks down the stairs, head high, shoulders back, confident.

"Look at that chest." says my colleague in the chair smirking. "She is one of a kind." he adds bringing his hands in front of his torso.

"Is that why you called me ?" I ask annoyed.

"Come on man, you needed a break." says Joon. He is a 54 year-old divorcee, which is not well-viewed in South-Korea. He lives in a small town near Busan and he comes to work everyday by bus. He likes the drinking rather than the job itself. He likes to say he has seen it all, but I doubt he has. He has no children, which I think is better that way. Working together on a case taught me he has a passion for inappropriate jokes, no matter the circumstances. Or maybe it is just his old age. _Will I be like him when I get older ?_

"Fuck you Joon. Some of us are working." I say.

"Min, you need to take some time off and enjoy the beautiful things in life."

"By fantasizing on a journalist ?" I ask sarcastically.

"A journalist ?" he repeats laughing "She is not a journalist, she is an inspector. And mark that, at KNPA. KNPA Min ! " he repeats excited. KNPA stands for Korean National Police Agency.

"She is ?" I ask.

He nods. "Sexy huh ? They must have different standards when hiring in the capital, Seoul."

"What's wrong with the hiring in Busan ?" I whisper walking back to my seat.

"What's wrong ? Look around you pal, there are no ladies here."

"Fuck you Joon." says one of our female colleague from behind her own desk. She gives him the eyes and the middle finger.

"See ! That's not a lady." insists my colleague. "Where is your femininity ?"

"You can shove your femininity up your ass." she says to Joon while living the room, fed up with his stupidity.

"Live her alone." I say going back to my work. It is a missing report that has been filed this morning by a family from France. They reported their daughter missing. They used to call her every weekend but she did not pick up yesterday. And they could not reach her by text either. Today is Monday, meaning she only skipped one weekend call. And it is technically her Day 1 missing.

I look at her picture. She looks like any normal kid. Did she forget to reply to her texts ? Or did she break her phone ? Was she somewhere without wifi ? This last possibility could be ruled out quite immediately. There was no such thing as a spot without wifi in Korea. Excluding North-Korea, obviously. But there is something bothering me. I frown and bring my index to play with the bottom of my chin. I sigh when I can not get myself to find the cause of my unease. I file the missing paper as required. I look at her information and find out that she is an international student at the National University of Busan. She is majoring in Korean literature.

_Interesting choice._ But strange at the same time. I never understood what it is in literature that fascinates people.

I call the Office of International Affairs of the University and ask if they have had any news from the missing girl named : Rosalie Debain. _Very French_. She had light blue eyes and pale skin. Her hair were of a dark blonde, at the exception of a few locks of hair. On this picture she was smiling at the camera. She was wearing a light top and a pair of blue jeans with sandals. I guessed the picture must have been taken during a summer holiday in France, as I could not read the signs of the restaurants behind her.

The man on the other side of the line tells me he can not let me know of the student's whereabouts. Even when I tell him I am investigating her disappearance.

"I understand, but we are on holidays. We could not check her attendance as there were no classes and therefore she could be anywhere. We have no way of checking." he explains as calmly as possible, with a hint of anger he is trying to refrain. Or is it impatience ?

"Wasn't she living in the dormitory ?" I ask.

"No she wasn't. Well ... according to her file she was. But she moved out a couple months ago."

"Could you be more precise, please ?" I ask trying to remain polite and patient.

"She moved in on September 1st — like every other student — but she moved out on November 9th." he says slowly, sighing at the end of every word.

"Why would she move out ?" I ask.

"I am not her father." he answers. I chuckle. I have never met someone with that little patience. "Sometimes students move out because of problems with their roommates, or because they found somewhere better."

"Problems with their roommates ?"

"Wait, I'll transfer you to someone else."

Now I am the one sighing. I listen to the annoyingly calm piano playing in the background while waiting. Finally a woman picks up. "You are investigating one of our student ?" she asks. "For what exactly ?"

"A disappearance." I explain.

"How may I help you ?"

"Did she report any problems with her roommate ?" I ask.

"Nothing is written or her file. But sometimes the roomate is too loud or they don't have the same sleeping schedule. Some don't clean the apartment or they just don't get along."

"Are these all the reasons why she would have moved out ?" I ask.

"There are an infinite amount of reasons. Maybe she met a guy." she suggests.

"A guy ? What guy ?"

"That is something we do not know. We do not get involved into our students' private life Sir." she catches her breath "And it is a women's dormitory, no men were allowed in."

"Would it be possible to have the roommates information ?"

She hesitates. She sighs "I can not give it to you through the phone, as I can not verify your identity."

"Of course." I say.

"But you can come and ask for it." she says.

I sigh "Well thank you for your help. I will come by as soon as possible." I do not have the time to say goodbye I hear the ringtone on the other side of the line. She hung up.

Joon walks next to me and looks at the picture of the French missing girl. "Missing ?" he asks sipping on his cup of coffee. I nod.

"Since when ?" he asks.

"A week."

"Reported ?" Joon asks. He has this habit of not making full sentences. He drops words here and there and expects you to understand him. The first few months were challenging, but I got used to it.

"Her French parents reported her missing. They could not reach her."

"University ?" he asks curious. Joon was always curious, and perhaps all inspectors are. He is a strange man, with too many dirty jokes and questionable habits, but he has a gift when it comes to murders, disappearances or thefts. He had solved each and everyone of his cases. I admired him for that, and for that only.

"It's the holidays, no class, no is no way for them to check her whereabouts." I explain.

"Boyfriend ?" asks Joon frowning. I feel his breath on my face, it smells like coffee.

"I don't know yet. I'm gonna have to ask her friends. But I don't know who her friends are either."

"Ask the parents for maximum info." He is still looking at her picture, getting closer to the screen as if it would help him find more details.

"It's a pain in the ass because of the time difference. I can only get a hold of them from 7 to 9 p.m" I say sighing.

"Her face..." says Joon.

I nod "Doesn't it feel like you have seen her before ? " I ask.

"Where have I seen you ?" Joon asks himself. "Wait !" he suddenly says remembering something "I have seen her before."

"You have ?"

"Yes, here !"

"At the station ?" I ask confused and digging in my memory.

"She came to file a complaint ! Yes I remember now, her bottom...was kind of...well I remember." he coughs and smirks. "I think she came to complain about a stalker."

I grab my keybord and start typing. A few seconds later her name appears on the screen. She indeed filed a complaint against a stalker. She did not have the name, only the appearance, but it was of no help : a man wearing a dark mask and a dark hat. Since it was insufficient and she had not come back, the case had been dropped. It was labeled as '_dismissed_.'

"A stalker ?" I say out loud.

"We need more info." says Joon. He goes back to his seat, grabs his jacket "I'll go to the University, get the roommate's name and adress." he says. "You send an email to the family." I nod.

At lunch I write an email to her parents, asking them all kinds of questions that would help me find their missing daughter. I ask about friends, boyfriend(s), teachers, anything. I ask for details she might have given them in their previous interactions. Perhaps she had planned a holiday ? Maybe she had mentioned a club ? A party ? A visit somewhere. Anything. Following Joon's recommandation and my superior's order, I did not mention the case regarding her stalker. As it was no longer of interest. I had my personal opinions about this, but I obeyed. That is what a police officer does. He obeys comands.

I spend the entire afternoon checking my emails, while doing some paperwork and catching up on other irrelevant cases.

At 8 p.m I receive an answer. But not exactly the answer I expected. It is a long email with too little crucial information but too many questions. I take some notes. I write down a couple of names.

That of Rosalie's close friend Norémie ̶ which again is very French ̶ and her boyfriend Jim.

After some research I obtain their address. I jump in a car and drive to the first one : her boyfriend Jim.

Joon has gathered some information on the roommate. She is from India. He tells me she has the sexiest accent he has ever heard. But I quickly eliminate this information as essential. According to Amita, everything was going well. There was no paticular problems. They argued over different matter, but nothing of importance. She had not moved out because of her roommate.

Rosalie had moved out to be with her boyfriend, Jim.

I decide to go look for this man. On my way to his apartment, I can not help but think about the email I received. According to her parents, Rosalie had no plan whatsoever. And I find it hard to believe. A 20 year-old woman, with a boyfriend and a friend, living in South-Korea would not have any plans for winter holidays ? This does not make any sense. Was she keeping something from her parents ? Maybe they were not close enough as a family to share details.

I park on the pavement, not very legally but it will do. I take the tiny elevator up to the 8th floor. I knock on the apartment's door number 804. I wait for a few seconds. No answer. I knock again. I do not hear any movement inside. It is now almost 10 p.m I decide to wait for 30 minutes. But nothing. No one comes home. No one opens the door. And no one seems to be inside. I knock on the neighbor's door. An old man opens. I show him my badge.

"Hello." I introduce myself "I am investigating the disappearance of a lady. May I ask you a few questions ?" He nods with a lot of difficulty.

"Does Jim live next door ?" I ask.

"Yes, there is a young man living next door." he says with an old tired choppy voice.

"Do you know when he will be home ?"

His wife comes out from behind. She looks as tired as her husband. She holds onto the wall to move around. A younger man, perhaps in his 50s comes out of a room. A son ? Or a relative I guess. He is fixing his shirt.

"Who's that ?" he asks sniffing.

"I came from the police station." I say showing my badge "Do you know your neighbor, Jim ?"

He looks at me up and down and takes a closer look at my badge."You sure you're a cop ?"

"My badge proves it." I answer. He looks at my hands and neck. He looks at my skin color.

"I didn't know they hired foreigners." he says to himself, loud enough so I can hear it.

"I'm Korean." I explain although I do not need to.

"They hire black people ?" he points out.

"Yeah, they do." I say tired of hearing the same things over and over again. "Have you seen your neighbor recently ?"

"I have seen him a couple times yeah."

"Do you have any idea when he will be home ?" I ask.

"Not really no."

"Do you know what kind of person he is ?"

"Not really. We don't really get together with neighbors you see." he smirks.

"Have you ever seen him with a woman ?" The son shakes his head no. But his mother says yes. She moves so fast I am afraid she will injure herself. I take a picture of Rosalie out of my pocket and show it to the old woman.

"This woman ?" I ask. She puts her glasses on and takes the picture away, further from her eyes struggling to adapt. She nods "Yeah, yeah that's her. The foreigner." she says.

"Were they here together recently ?" I ask.

"No, I haven't seen her in a while."

"Do you remember when you last saw her ?" I ask.

"Sometimes in December. During the midterms. I remember " she catches her breath with difficulty "she was carrying around all these large and heavy books."

I note these informations down in a black book. She was last seen too long ago. The last time she had contacted her parents was last weekend, on Sunday 5th, January.

I walk back to my car, disappointed by the lack of information I was given. I drive to the second adress. Busan National University's dormitories, where Rosalie's friend, Norémie, is said to be staying at. But when I get there, I am informed I can not see her. No men are allowed in the dormitory. And my badge will not change that.

"I just need a few minutes. I will not set foot in the room." I try to convince the middle-aged man.

"I am sorry, I can not let you go inside." he mumbles.

I give up and decide to leave a note.

_Please come to the police station at 36 Cheongpa-ro 47 nagil._

_It is an important matter regarding your friend Rosalie Debain. _

_In hopes to see you soon. _

_Police Officer Min._

As I am about to leave the note on the table, a woman gets in through the door. A foreigner. The wind blows and her hair fly around, making a mess. She tries to put them in order.

"Hello." she says to the guardian bending forward. He greets her back.

He looks at me and says : "This is the woman you were asking for." I turn around.

"Are you Norémie ?" I ask. She seems taken aback. Perhaps even a little scared. I have talked to her in Korean without realizing it.

She nods "I am. Who are you ?" she asks back in my native tongue ̶ which she speaks very well ̶ frowning.

I take my badge out once again and introduce myself "Police Officer Min. I'm working at Busan's police station. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions ?"

"Questions about what ?" she seems very calm. Usually, even innocent people, tend to get nervous when asked that question. Everyone has something to hide.

"About your friend, Rosalie Debain." I say.

"What about her ?" asks Norémie, tying her hair up in a bun.

"Her parents reported her missing earlier this morning." I explain.

"Missing ?" she repeats after me.

"Do you know where she might be ?" I ask. But she shakes her head no.

"Probably somewhere with her boyfriend." she smiles "they just started dating, they are deeply in love." I smile.

"It seems they have been dating for quite a while." I point out.

"They met in October I think." She looks on her left side trying to remember more details. "But they became a couple around November."

Her informations matches with the neighbor's and the University's. She met Jim, her boyfriend and moved out on November 9th. She lived with Jim and had been seen by their neighbor in December, studying for the midterms. But the time lapse between the beginning of December and today was long and required more digging.

"Have you heard of her recently ?" I ask.

"She is not very connected." says Norémie. She sees my confused expression and goes into details "She doesn't look at her phone much. She thinks it's an addiction so she takes days to answer a simple text. Sometimes it takes her weeks." she laughs.

"So how long since you have heard of her ?"

"We hanged out last saturday. We went to eat together and visited a museum on the afternoon. But why ?"

"Saturday, so on the 4th ?" She nods.

"Didn't she tell you about any plans she had with Jim ?" I ask opening my black book and getting my pen ready.

"I can't remember. I don't think we talked about it."

"You mean you ate together but did not mention your plans for the week ahead ?" I can not believe it. "What did you talk about ?" I ask.

She smirks, annoyed "We talked about how we messed up our finals." she sighs "we talked about how our teacher were bastards to give us such questions."

"Okay, I get it." I say stopping her. "How was her relationship with Jim ?"

She takes some time to answer "Normal. Like any other relationship. They were deeply in love."

"Could it be that they went on holiday somewhere ?" I ask.

"Probably."

"Did they ever fight ?"

"Not in front of me." she says.

"What does that mean ?" I ask curious.

"Every couple fights now and then. They might have, but behind walls."

I cough. I hesitate but ask anyway "She had a stalker right ?"

Norémie frowns. "She did."

"Who was he ?" I ask.

"A guy whom must have been working around the campus. He followed her home, he even left a few letters in her mail, he would wait for her at the entrance."

"Did he ever do anything ?"

"No." she says "He always kept his distance. But he was still harassing her."

"Thank you." I conclude once I have asked everything I could think of.

"Wait, wait." she says before I leave "Let me send her a text." She sends her multiple text messages on all sorts of application : Kakao, Messenger, Whatsapp, Instagram, Twitter. We wait. Silently for half an hour we wait. But no answer comes.

"I will let you know when she replies." says her friend full of hope. '_If she replies_' I think but keep it to myself. It had been over a week and no one had heard anything. No text, no phonecall, nothing. And although she was a disconnected woman, a week was a very long time to show no sign of existence. Even a post, a picture, a call, an emoji...Nothing at all. I send a message to Joon and ask him to find out wether she had been connected to any social media recently ? If she had liked a tweet, a picture... When was she last active in the virtual world ? And more specifically, where ? I also ask him to check on her boyfriend's whereabouts.

I drive home, eat some leftovers, take a shower and go to bed. I do not even bother to watch TV. Before I close my eyes I see her face. It is as if it is printed inside my eyelids. _What happened to you ?_

In that moment, I no longer doubt my instincts. Something is wrong. And I am desperate for a hint, a lead, anything. I need to find Rosalie Debain.


End file.
